


Little One

by ultrafreakyfangirl



Series: Hassandra AU [2]
Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, among other things, focus is on hassandra, harry reacts to the news of being a dad, mentions of the three other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:03:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrafreakyfangirl/pseuds/ultrafreakyfangirl
Summary: What if it wasn't Becca who was pregnant? What if Cassandra was? This is somewhat a continuation of my last fic, so everything I write, unless stated otherwise is in my AU. Hassandra get together in this new world, they're a couple for awhile...and Cassandra finds out she's pregnant.





	Little One

They made it just through the tail end of winter.

She wore his woolen sweaters, sleeves pulled over her hands, and he laughed at her jokes (no matter how corny they were and trust her on this – they were pretty corny, and he was just pretty sweet).

She overheard Will asking her sister _what was up_ , ‘ _I’ve never seen Harry be cute with anyone, it’s **Harry’**_ and Allie just shrugged, but wore a small, impish smile, biting her lip, almost self-consciously. _‘How can he not be cute with her. It’s **Cassandra.** She makes everyone see hearts in their eyes, just by being **her**.’ _

They ate butter tarts and berry scones for breakfasts, and he insisted on buying her those four-dollar lattes she likes, even though money is no longer a construct here – he just wanted to feel showy, _like a real boyfriend._

She blushed at that, brushed it off by pressing her cool hand against his cheek and leaving a chaste kiss on his mouth. He’d reciprocate by combing her hair with his fingers, delicately removing strands that got stuck to her chap stick – her lips were horrendously dry in the winters, it should be an occupational hazard.

They walked hand-in-hand around the park, neither of them daring to pretend there was anything else to look at other than grass and the regaling trees, because it was too sad, too upsetting to think about all that they’ve lost – like the birds, the squirrels, and _their parents._

So, they played _Would you Rather,_ to pass the time, and she’d always play it safe, while he’d go for the riskier option and she often wondered if that is what made their relationship work, _you know_ , _fundamentally._

But then he’d tell her _he loved her_ – before bed, when he woke up, if she took home his favorite cereal from the grocery store, or just because he thought her hair looked good that day, and all of her reservations about them, about their relationship, about the fact that _he_ was Harry Bingham and _she_ was Cassandra Pressman, all went away. None of it mattered.

Until they found out. And suddenly, _all_ _of it_ mattered.

He found her on the floor of his bathroom – which had slowly become their bathroom, her things finding home in his drawers, and a general sense of order and organization was starting to inhabit everything of his she touched. She was curled into a little ball on the tile, her way of blocking out the rest of the world around her, and there were leftover tears, some stains, some still fresh, on her cheeks and in rivets down her neck, her mouth drawn into a thin, pressed line.

Only one thought had been going through her head ad nauseum. _No. No. No, no, no._ And then she saw his bare feet, skin tinged with a shadow of dirt from playing Ultimate Frisbee with the boys in flip flops and _no_ turned to _shit_.

Before he’d went out the door that morning, she’d shaken her head at him with an eye roll and a _tsk_ bu _t_ let him leave, because she knew she’d never stop him. Why she was thinking of this particular moment now, eluded her, but it was probably some weird coping mechanism, her body’s way of rejecting the inevitable.

He bent down to her level and held her chin in his palm. His eyes searched hers, until she felt like she couldn’t take the heat of his stare anymore, like she was being scrutinized, and turned away from his touch.

“Cass, _hey, baby_ , what’s the matter?”

Nothing. She couldn’t say it. Not yet.

She watched his brow furrow in concern, and he reached for her hand and gently stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “ _Little one_ , come on now. You can tell me anything.”

He was pulling out the big guns.

It started as a stupid, silly argument the two of them were having.

She had forced his help choosing a dress to wear to Helena and Luke’s wedding, and she was standing in a black little thing when he said it – a little less than modest for her taste, but it was Allie’s and the cinching factor in her borrowing it, honestly, was _‘you want to look sexy for Harry, don’t you?’_

 Her sister had pursed her lips and made _beyond juvenile_ kissy noises, which made Cassandra throw a pillow from off of the bed at her; but alas, there she was, in Allie’s stupid dress, but even she had to admit, she looked very sexy indeed.

_“You’re short, Pressman” he stated, so confident, so smug, so **Harry**. She rebuffed smoothly, saying that “actually, I’m 5’5, which I’ll have you know, is the average height amongst the population of North American women.”  _

_It didn’t bother her that he didn’t call her **sexy.** Or **hot**. Or anything else like that. Because that wasn’t her. She didn’t boast her physicality like most girls, and he knew that, and seemed to like her despite that. Which was great. _

_She threw a pillow at him, which he managed to deftly block with his hands. So, she threw another one. This one hit him smack in the jaw._

_“Woah, woah, woah,” he smirked at her, a teasing, **sexy** , **annoying** , kind of smirk. _

_She was still getting used to the idea of her brain associating **Harry Bingham** with a word like **sexy** but telling her that he loves her and meaning it helps a little. And the countless orgasms. They help a little too. If Allie could hear her thoughts, she’d be peeing herself. Usually, that sort of talk was reserved for after a few too many beers she’d been coerced into drinking, but now it seemed to be part of her sober narrative, too. She has her **boyfriend** to thank for that. _

_“And though she be little, she is fierce,” he said in a terribly imitated Victorian accent._

_“You’re not that much taller than me. You’re like 5’9. 6’1 with heels,” she grinned at him, stepping closer to him one step at a time until their lips met._

_“Mm,” he hummed appreciatively, making grabby hands for her dress and hiking it up to her waist in his fervor._

_She slapped his hand away and broke apart from him, pushing him back onto the bed when he tried to move in again. Frowning, she scolded him. “You’ll wrinkle my dress.”_

_“Calm down, little one,” he told her, his voice smooth, reassuring in that way he could be with her – It wasn’t patronizing, he wouldn’t dare, or condescending, it just **worked**_ _on her like not much else did. He grabbed for again and she let him, standing in between his legs like falling into line. “I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning bill. I promise.”_

_She couldn’t help it, she laughed. She showed up thirty minutes later in a creased dress, from being in a ball on the floor, and she got a couple looks at the reception, raised eyebrows and the like, but Harry just squeezed her hand in this conspiring gesture and led her over to the makeshift dance floor in the church._

Because he was using it now. Knowing it was her favorite.

She felt loved, cared for, protected and nurtured, when he called her that. It reminded her of _safety_ and _tenderness_ and that blanket cocoon feeling, of raindrops on the roof and 90’s slow jams. Of childhood. Of a baby. Of a heart, beating, eurythmic like a drum.

She realized _that_ was why. It left his lips now, shaped in a vigilant _‘o,’_ because he wanted her to feel _solaced_ , solaced as he stroked her hair and kissed her temple.

“It’s okay little one,” he cooed as he wiped at her falling tears with his thumb. “I’ll wait here for as long as you need me. I want you to tell me things. Trust me with your shit, Cassie. It’s _our_ shit.”

He pecked the bridge of her nose and she sighed deeply, unwinding her clenched fists. Wordlessly, she pointed at the garbage can beside the toilet which she was facing. He obliged, opening the lid and gingerly picked up a pregnancy test between his thumb and forefinger. He looked uncertain.

“Careful,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from crying. “That’s my pee you’re touching.”

If the situation was different, she was sure she would have laughed. He probably would have too. But it wasn’t, so he didn’t, and in reaction, he threw it to the floor, little pink plus sign up.

“That’s not a – you’re not – are you?”

She stayed quiet. Didn’t trust herself to talk. If she’d had any energy left at all, she’d use it to scream. Scream with all her might. This would happen to Allie – _no offense little sis, but the gene for impulsivity runs deep within you_ , but not to _her._ If Allie was impulsive, she was the opposite of that. She was not. Rational maybe, thoughtful.

But then again, if she was so _thoughtful,_ she wouldn’t have been carefully and meticulously washing herself as she showered the next morning, because _something didn’t feel right_ the night before, but in her euphoria, she just let it go. She should have peed after. But she was just too lazy. Too comfortable. All around too trusting of Harry, and of herself.

She was content in lying next to him, both of their chests rising and falling towards the ceiling, until he finally murmured _‘night Cassie, love you’_ into her hair and fell asleep on his side. She’d responded in kind and left a kiss in his mused curls before drifting off to sleep, chalking it up to random anxiety.

Finally, she nodded at him. “Mhm. Your worst fear is confirmed, Harry Bingham. You got a girl pregnant. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

 _Ha_. She thought witty banter could get her out of this. Well, she thought wrong. _Way_ wrong.

She started to cry again. Loud, gasping sobs this time. She was even scaring herself; she couldn’t imagine his feelings about the whole thing, about _her,_ right now, if he _blamed_ her, _hated_ her, wanted to –

“Cassandra, you aren’t just any girl, okay? So, it’s better if you get that through your head right now.”

“I’m not?” She sounded weak. Pitiful. Incapable of thinking for herself. And she wanted to _die._

But the way he was looking at her made her stop. His eyes limpid with something akin to desire, loaded with a different kind of intensity, and his mouth serious – straight, almost pondering, _but how could that be because he loves her,_ and that’s all that matters. It will be, from this moment on, the only thing that keeps them grounded. And not for the first time, that thought made her breathless.

“No. You’re so much more than that to me, Cassie. _I love you._ And I have a hard time saying that stuff. I’ve only ever said it to one other person before you.”

He didn’t say, but he didn’t have to. _Kelly_. Lately, Cassandra thought more about Kelly than she cared to admit.

“But I realize now, being with you like this, is different than that. _Honestly._ I was trying to find myself with her, but with you, now, in this fucked up place, I’ve changed. We _all_ have. But who’s not to say we wouldn’t have made that change all on our own?”

He grabbed for her hands and she let him take them, letting him take her weight on himself as he pulled her up into a sitting position.

“You’ve kept us all alive here, Cass. Without you, we’d all be bodies scattered and bloodied. It would have only been a matter of time. Now, it’s our turn – _my turn_ – to keep you alive, to keep our baby alive. We’ll make it through, little one. We’ll make it through _together_.”

She managed a small, thankful smile as he squeezed her hands in his. “I love you, okay?” He leaned over to kiss her belly. “And I love _her,_ too.”

“Her?” she managed through a slimy mess of snot and tears.

 “I just have a feeling.” He grinned and kissed her forehead. Was it her imagination, or did his smile slip into something more of a frown?

Before she had any time to really think it over, he was hugging her tight, carding his hand, a little harshly, through the tangles in her hair.

…

Nine grueling, uncomfortable, months passed slowly, and worrisomely. Each new stage in her pregnancy brought forth a whole new paranoia. But they got through them. Some things made her laugh – like the way her shirts would all look like they were made for ten year olds by the time she was about eight months in; some things made her cry – like when Harry got her mint chocolate chip ice cream instead of cookie dough; some things made her smile – Allie rubbing her feet because Harry had the dinner rush and _man were her feet killing her_.

Labor, thanks to Kelly and an assist from Gordie, which could have been awkward if any of them had let it, was much past her pain threshold, but with Harry holding one hand and Allie holding the other while she screamed and cried and probably severely injured both of them (though an X-ray at Allie’s pleading confirmed she in fact did not), made the whole experience a little less daunting.

At nine twenty-two in the morning, on the longest day of the year, their precious baby girl was born. Yes, Harry bragged, a little arrogantly, but she was too keyed up and simultaneously _dead tired_ , to even care.

Olivia Allison Pressman-Bingham.

They had a lengthy discussion regarding potential names for hours and hours, before bed, over breakfast, but not before Harry had his coffee - she learned that the hard way, because he’d grouchily vetoed their daughter’s name at first, the sounds of percolating coffee in the background. Their conversation went a little like this, and Cassandra smiled at the memory.

_“You’re not just saying this name because it’s the title of that stupid **One Direction** song, are you? Because damn it Cassie, we are not naming our daughter after a **boyband.** ” _

_“ **One Direction** is not stupid – how dare you! If it were an option, I’d totally leave you for the other Harry. **Harry Styles** , in case you don’t get it.” _

_She crossed her arms in front of her and he did the same. But it was comical with her bump in the way and she saw him try not to smile as his eyes dropped to her pregnant belly._

_“I hear you. And I’m not threatened. His shirts are always too tight.”_

_She smirked. “Your shirts are always too tight.”_

_Harry looked down, and realizing she was right, sighed. She patted his shoulder. “But it’s a part of your charm. And anyway, I happen to like the name Olivia despite that. I was totally jealous of every Olivia I ever met from the ninth grade onwards, but that’s not the point. It’s on my list.”_

_“You have a list?” He raised an eyebrow._

_“Yes. Since I was eleven years old I have been compiling baby names in an old journal. I can get it for you if you like. Olivia’s on there, I promise.”_

_She could tell by the amused look in his eyes that he believed her. “No. No need.”_

_He took his mug, now filled to the brim with black coffee, and, not bothering to add milk or sugar, took a sip. He sighed blissfully and went into the great room to read the finance section of the paper. The sad part was that Cassandra didn’t even think it was a cover up for ‘sports’_

_“I like it,” he said to her on his way by to rinse his cup in the sink. He turned to her with a smile, empty coffee cup in hand. She looked unsure so he emphasized, “so much that if I had a list, Olivia would be on it.”_

That was enough for her. It was all the assurance she needed.

Allie wouldn’t stop crying and thanking her so many times it became stupid, after she learned that her sister’s daughter carried a piece of her. It was like it was overwhelming for her or something. Which is funny, because Cassandra thought Allie knew that she really did love her _that_ much.

She owed so much of herself to her sister, for things during her childhood – hospital visit after hospital visit, one close call too many, the sacrifices – friends, sports, schoolwork, that Allie made for her without being asked and willingly, were too many to count. Nothing could ever truly repay her, but still, Cassandra prayed that this sentiment with her own flesh and blood, was enough. It seemed to be, and even if Allie took the gesture in stride and still didn’t fully understand what it was for, she would be okay with that. Because she would love that child, her niece, like it was her own, and _that_ was enough.

Cassandra gazed into Olivia’s beautiful, blue and fair, untainted eyes. She had tufts of dark hair, no doubt curls abound, already sprouting, and she sunk her lips into them, and the soft skin of a newborn.

“I love you, little one. And I’ll never let anything, _anything,_ hurt you here.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry smile, a goopy, emotionally charged smile, and he kissed the side of her head with a slight nod. 

That was her living promise. For now, and always. And she knew with a sudden and fierce immediacy that actually freaked her out a little bit, _she would die_ trying to keep it.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Large blocks of text in talics are flashbacks in case that needed to be said. ALSO please please please comment! I love kudos as much as the next person but I am a slut for validation and love *insert cheesy smile here* :P


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